


Sharing a room with his brother

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Yuletide 2005
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-21
Updated: 2005-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharing a room with his brother had broken Dean. It was only a matter of time before he did something drastic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing a room with his brother

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lar/gifts).



 

 

_Room #165_

_90 miles outside Chicago, can't stop driving. I don't know why._

__________

The hotel room smelled like something had just died there - not quite masked by the faint tinge of cigarette smoke; a scent Dean was unfortunately accustomed to. But on the plus side, the shower water was clear which was a welcome change from the usual moldy brown or even the literal blood bath that he had recently taken. And the bed was soft, and clean enough to sleep on. Which was all Dean needed. It could have been worse, and he couldn't afford better. And at his core - Dean Winchester was a practical guy. He took what he could get.

He showered perfunctorily, just passably, enough so that his stench wouldn't be making anyone sick. He stumbled out of the bathroom quickly enough. Steam billowed out dramatically behind him, though he hardly noticed. He was half-asleep, headed for the bed. The lights were already off in the main room but it wasn't dark, not with the fluorescent pink shadow of the Motel sign filtering through the room's cheap cotton drapes.

So Dean could clearly see from where he stood poised just before the bed, the pale skin of his sleeping companion's back, the protrusion of shoulder blades, and the extensive length of spine. Messy dark hair spread across the pillows, the sprawl of long legs under the sheets. Standing, pausing there, still slightly damp and in his boxer shorts, Dean sighed at the sight. He and his brother had outgrown sharing a bed years ago.

But whoever it had been that said 'beggars can't be choosers' had been damn right. Because nothing, not even his own brand of mild reluctance, was going to stop Dean from sleeping in that bed tonight. He had earned this bed over a thirteen hour drive from Atlanta. Followed by the two days of tree climbing looking for tree demons or whatever the hell they had been, along with two nights of tossing and turning on the ground in a National Park. This mattress had his name all over it. Or at least written on the section that Sam wasn't currently stretched across, king of the castle style.

Dean crept into bed, years of experience and experiences (all bad) prompting him not to jostle and wake the person lying next to him. Though he highly doubted that Sam was asleep in the first place. He had to wonder if Sam ever slept. Or if Sam just pretended to because that was what they did. But tonight Dean was going to have hope. That Sam was as exhausted as he was and that they would both sleep through the night - peacefully even.

He should have trusted his gut instinct, because Sam hadn't been asleep. As soon as Dean's head hit his pillow, Sam's eyes opened. And so did his mouth.

"We'll have to get up at 7 if we're going to be in New Mexico by the end of the day."

Dean's eyes were closed but he could feel Sam watching him, waiting for an answer. He had no doubt that Sam would wait and stare all night if he had to. "Then wake me up at 7." Was Dean's uninterested grunt, with him praying that was the end of the conversation.

"We could check out those reports of missing men and unnatural fog in Albuquerque first."

"Whatever." Dean drawled out, stifling a yawn. He wondered if pulling a pillow over his head was too much of a statement about how little he cared.

The bed pitched as Sam rolled over onto his back. "What're you thinking about?"

"Sleeping." Dean kept his replies short, hoping Sam would get the point. He would have rolled over, turned away from Sam, but he knew there wasn't enough room, not with the way the kid was still sprawled over the whole damn bed, practically on top of Dean already.

"If you wanted to drop by that town with the supposed Satanic killings first we could--" What was funny was that they both knew that Sam didn't give a shit where they went this time. The road to Albuquerque wasn't going to lead them to their father or to the thing that killed Jessica. So it didn't matter to Sam. He was just talking, thinking out loud. Anything that wasn't sleeping. And usually Dean could tune him out but not now. Not with them both in the same bed. When he could practically hear Sam's breath, his heart beat, like it was his own. He was too close.

"Fine! That sounds good. See you then." Dean did pull his pillow over his head then, hoping that it would be a buffer to Sam's voice.

"Just tell me what you're thinking about." No such luck. And God, his brother was a girl. Worse than a girl because he should know better than to say shit like that.

Dean reached out without a thought and with amazing aim, his hand slapping over Sam's crotch. It rested there for a second before Sam shoved it away and for a moment, blessed silence reigned. Though it couldn't last.

"What the hell was that?" Sam stuttered in bewilderment. No one pulled off befuddled horror quite like Sam.

"Just checking to see if you still had a dick. 'Cause I would swear that you just tried to pillow talk with me!" Dean's shout was muffled by the pillow but he had no doubt that Sam heard and understood him. If only because Sam pushed him out of bed and told him to fuck off.

Not that Dean had been anticipating any other kind of reaction. You don't touch another guy's piece without permission. Of course on the other hand he wouldn't let his little brother have the last laugh. Any other night, Dean would have declared war. But it wasn't worth it tonight. Not when he was too tired to even get up and get back in bed. But Dean knew that Sam was expecting some kind of retaliation and far be it from him to disappoint.

"That hurts, man. That really hurts. The wham, bam, thank you; after all we've been through? I thought we had something special, I thought we had a connection." He taunted his brother from his position on the floor, fluffing his pillow and getting as comfortable as he could on a floor that smelled the way it did. There was a part of him that was simply grateful that it didn't smell like Sam.

"You realize that I'm waking you up in four hours." Sam shot back.

Dean's eyes were already closed, sleep dragging at him. Maybe tomorrow there'd be a mattress with his name on it. A bed without Sam all over it. That was all he needed.

   
 

_Hotel #302_

_We got lost in Phoenix, seemed like such a long time._

__________

The hotel room looked as though it had seen better days. Dean paced down past yellow wallpaper, cracked and peeling, and up past water damage and a shoddy patch job on a hole about the size of a fist. And then he paced down and back up again. He was vibrating with excess energy, every cell in his body eager to move. Whatever that witch had hit him with, it had felt like he'd just grabbed a hold of a live wire. And here he was, seven hours later, not able to let it go.

He felt like he could climb a mountain, run for miles, fuck for hours. And Dean wanted to. He was bouncing off the walls in here, he couldn't stand it, the caged, closed in feeling. But Sam wanted him to stay here, said the last thing that the townspeople wanted to see was Dean, jazzed and jittery after -- after what happened. Dean was the older brother but he wasn't the one who knew best, that much was obvious. So he would stay in the hotel room, because Sam wanted him to. He wondered when he had stopped being the older brother, the one who protects and became the one that needed to be protected.

Standing by the front door, Sam shrugged on his jacket, watching Dean's track with a kind of amused detachment. Dean turned away from him, an extra stomp in his walk as he paced away. That was the worst part of this whole mess. That Dean was alone in it. That Sam didn't feel it, didn't understand, would only watch in that studious way of his as Dean crawled out of his skin.

"I'm going out for food." Sam said. "You want anything?"

Dean wanted lots of things. But what leaped to mind at the moment as he turned around again was grabbing a hold of his little brother and shaking him. And shake him until Sam snapped, until he moved, until he wanted action as badly as Dean did.

"Cold beer, hot shower, nice girl." Even his words were rushed, but Dean couldn't stop.

"Scratch that last part. She doesn't have to be nice." It would be better if she wasn't. He could remember times when his women had been downright mean. But it'd been good. Tied down, smacked around, loving it. The rush of being helpless, out of control. He felt that way all the time now. Dean rubbed his hands over his chest, feeling them twitch violently. He was starting to hate it.

"Looks like there's a gay bar down the street if the girl part is negotiable too." Sam quipped, as he stepped out the door. He didn't notice the glare Dean shot at him, because as smart as Sam was, he was one of the least perceptive people Dean had ever known. He was almost glad for that small favor.

Dean whirled around again as the door slammed closed behind Sam, his heart thumping madly as he made his way down the room, again. No matter what he told himself, no matter how hard he tried - Dean couldn't stop. And he hated that.

   
 

_Hotel #223_

_Five miles outside of Vegas when we broke down._

__________

They would have to pay damages on the hotel room, that was damn sure.

Dean stood shivering and watched the puddle of slime on the floor as it spread, little rivulets running through the carpet. Each droplet that slid down from his fingers hit the ground with a small splash. He looked over the boot prints that trailed around the room, and the pile of Sam's clothes, sopping and abandoned the second Sam had stepped through the door, creating their own puddle over by the window.

Dean wondered if he looked as disgusting as this carpet did.

He damn well felt disgusting. The slime was all over him, not viscous and green and clinging like it was in the movies. It was watery, and vaguely yellow. Dean felt like he'd been sneezed on, which wasn't helping his current state of mind.

He was angry. At the damn house for raining slime the second they had set foot in the foyer. At Sam for going into that house even though Dean had warned him that something was off. At himself for following Sam, even though he couldn't have rightly done anything else. Because they were brothers and whatever happened they were in it together. That was what Dean had promised himself when they'd been kids and again when he and Sam had driven away from Stanford. No matter what happened, they'd be together. Half the Winchester family was better than none.

Dean checked the clock on the table, the fifth time he had done so in so many minutes. He tried to remind himself that the coin toss had been fair and square, the way their father had taught them. Sam had won first shower, and Dean couldn't argue with that.

But he shuddered as a fat drop of slime slid down his back and down the waistband of his jeans; cold, disgusting. It felt like it was leeching into his skin, chilling him down to his bones. And thought, five minutes had been long enough. It was his turn in the shower.

He was in the bathroom before he ever gave it a thought, and tossing open the curtain of the shower.

"Girly scream you've got going there." Dean remarked, smirking at Sam who stepped out of the shower still looking slightly wild-eyed with surprise. "Suppose it goes along with the rest of you." He let his gaze slide down Sam's body, then immediately wished he hadn't.

"If you weren't my brother -" Dean threw a towel that hit Sam in the face, cutting off his rant.

"Too bad that I am, huh?" Dean smiled because the words had somehow come out more bitter than he'd meant them too. And Dean kept smiling as he shoved his naked brother out of the room and slammed the door behind him. It was the only thing he could do. He felt disgusting.

   
 

_Hotel #133_

_I'm going down to Haskell. Got a woman down in Abilene._

__________

It was half-past four in the morning and Dean had counted the panels that lined the hotel room's walls seventeen times. Though he wasn't any closer to falling asleep than he had been after the first count.

He ran a hand over his face before sitting up in defeat. He'd gone without sleep before, he would do it again.

The problem was that he was tense. Sam was too. Dean wished that he could blame it on the job, but it was more than that. It was their lives. They never got a break, a chance to relax. A chance to get laid. Dean couldn't even remember the last time he'd had sex and that was a damn shame.

Obviously Sam was living like a monk, and Dean respected him for being true to Jessica's memory. He got that, he did. His brother had loved her and now she was dead.

But it wasn't healthy, Sam and Dean, the two of them, the solitude. It was starting to get to Dean.

And he knew that it would be easy enough to go out; now or tomorrow and spend the night with someone that wasn't related to him. A smile, a compliment; it didn't take much. Or it never had for Dean.

He remembered the last time he'd been looking for company, in a bar outside of Tulsa. There'd been this blond; fake nails, fake breasts. Probably a wild-cat in the sack. He'd smiled at her, she'd smiled back. And Sam had sat there at his table watching them, a resigned look on his face. Like he fully expected to be abandoned, left alone.

Dean could have gone home with that woman, he knew that. But he hadn't. He'd gone back to the hotel with Sam; that night and the next.

And tonight. Sam had the television on, though this late they were only showing infomercials for lean fat grilling machines. Dean pretend to be watching. But he was really watching Sam.

His brother was leaning back against the headboard of his bed, knees drawn up to his chest. His hair was mussed around his face, the way it got when he wouldn't stop messing with it. And his forehead was wrinkled, the way it did when he was thinking too hard about something.

"You okay, man?" Dean asked, even though he knew the answer. He barely remembered the last time any one in their family could be considered 'okay'. Not since their mother had died. It'd been a long twenty years.

"What do you think is going to happen to her? Amanda?" Sam asked in response, lifting his head to look over at Dean, his expression shadowed by the half-light of the room.

Dean shrugged, distinctly uncomfortable. "She seduced her brother. Yeah, that's going to fuck her up for a long time. Guess generally it's a bad idea to have sex with your relatives."

"It's a bad idea to molest your brother or to have kids with your brother. Having sex with them is basically just frowned upon. Mostly because it's gross." Sam replied thoughtfully, his legs stretching out across his comforter, his boxers bunching up high on his thighs.

Dean snorted at that, mostly because he didn't have anything to say. "I guess we'll have to stay just friends then." He finally responded. He didn't look at Sam as he said it. Dean didn't really want to see his brother's face at the moment.

Dean sank back down in his pillows as Sam retorted with something that Dean tuned out. He was too tired for these kind of conversations.

And he was tired of being tense and fucked up and not sleeping.

He wanted to sleep and dream. Good dreams about soft hair wrapped around his fingers and long legs wrapped around his waist.

It had to be better than lying awake and dreaming about those same things.

   
 

_Hotel # 324_

_From Detroit to San Diego, driving eighty-five miles an hour down my road._

__________

Dean had spread the crime scene photos around the table in their hotel room. He kept coming back to one of them, wondering why the hell it looked so familiar to him; the empty lake and the broken trees. He'd been trying to figure it out for an hour, but nothing was coming to him. And Sam wasn't helping the process.

Dean could hear his brother rattling around, messing with their weapons arsenal. Dean specifically didn't turn around to watch. He was distracted enough already. Funny that when they'd been kids, Dean had always been the one who got blamed for making too much noise, causing too much trouble. Dean was the one who blasted hard rock, shouted, got into fights. Never Sam.

It seemed as though Sam had finally learned something from his brother though, because now it was him who was always in Dean's face, keeping Dean awake, making Dean insane.

The only time Dean could catch a moment to himself was in the bathroom and only if he locked the door.

Dean grimaced at the picture in his hands as Sam slammed into something and cursed loudly. He couldn't take much more of this. Sharing a room with his brother had broken him. It was only a matter of time before he did something drastic.

"You going to sleep, man?" Sam asked suddenly. Dean looked over at him. His brother had already shed his shirt and was climbing into his bed.

Turning to the bed that he was supposed to be sleeping in, Dean raised an eyebrow. It looked like Sam had piled everything they owned there.

"As soon as I dig out my bed." Dean answered wryly, standing and reaching out to switch off the lamp. The scene photos could wait until he'd gotten some sleep.

Sam propped himself up on his elbows, frowning in confusion. "I thought we were sharing."

Dean flinched, before quickly covering up his slip with a laugh. "Two guys sharing a bed when they don't have to? What will people think?"

"It's cold. And you don't care what anyone thinks." Sam was giving Dean that look, the one he usually reserved for dealing with people who were possessed or demented. Dean wondered which one he was.

"I really don't." Dean stood at the edge of Sam's bed, staring down at his brother. He was cold, and he should just uncover his own bed and go to sleep. But Dean couldn't make himself walk away. He abruptly wanted Sam to understand. He wondered if anything he could say would make him understand. That it wasn't about Dean, and how he felt. It never was. It was about Sam. And Dean wanted what was best for his brother. No matter what it took.

"But you care, College Boy." Was what Dean ended up saying, prepared to turn away and clean off the other mattress.

But Sam stopped him.

"I don't care. Not anymore." Sam muttered, his eyes dark. Then he closed them and rolled over onto his side. Leaving Dean to make up his mind.

And maybe Dean didn't give it as much consideration as he could have but... he didn't want to sleep alone. And he didn't want Sam to have to sleep alone, not anymore.

Dean thought about all the hotel rooms that he had stayed in over his life, as he crawled into bed next to his brother.

All over the U.S., thousands of hotels. He remembered them as he curled up behind Sam, placing hand carefully over his brother's shoulder. The hotels, each one different and yet somehow they'd all been the same. He thought about that as Sam grabbed his hand and pulled, dragging Dean closer so that his arm could drape across Sam.

It wasn't as bad as it might seem. The roaming, never knowing where he might end up night after night. Because he had Sam with him. Dean's arm tightened around his brother and he took a deep breath before finally closing his eyes to sleep.

Because when Sam was with him; wherever they were, it didn't matter. Any state, any city, anywhere - when Dean was with his brother, sharing a room with him, sharing space with him - together, they were safe. Whole. Loved.

Every hotel room was home. Because they were together.

 

_the end_

 


End file.
